Writing Fiction by Installment

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Ghosts – A Poem

Ghosts

I am a ghost.
Want to join me?
We can swing
and drink fruit juice
under the lemon tree. Riot in the street and
disturb the neighbors.

We will make silent roars
like lions
in the sweet grass
and laugh full until our bellies
crash. Open our hearts
in the clover
and believe the sunrise
is a fable
passed down
by Normans during
their early incursions
into the British Isles.

Ghosts have a luxury
few others have.
They are time
suspended
as the world moves
recklessly around.

Lay down with me
and be ghosts
and pass through our memories
to live lives
reconstructing ancient lays
that span
tenuously through the long ages
as they diminish
to the living.